


You Or A Ghost

by lostatsea



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, But I have ideas, I'm kinda just working as I go, It'll probably be sad, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostatsea/pseuds/lostatsea
Summary: New school. New town. New life. New person.**Tyler Joseph is a new student, and somehow, while managing the stresses of basketball, schoolwork, and perfectionism, he must try to survive. However, with a struggling attempt to reinvent himself and mask any negative emotions, Tyler embarks on a long journey on learning how to live.(Title from The Brobecks)





	1. All is New

"Tyler Joseph. Tyler Joseph. My name is Tyler Joseph."

His feet met the cold tile of the bathroom with each step, fixated on their placement. They couldn't hit the cracks. No cracks. Only the full, smooth surface. His old bathroom didn't have cracks. This was new.

"Tyler Joseph," he repeated once again, the words coming foreignly from his tongue. It was unnatural. Something wasn't right. But it was his name. His name was Tyler Joseph.

"Tyler Joseph. I am Tyler Joseph." He wasn't convincing himself.

So he picked his eyes up from the floor to meet himself in the mirror. But it wasn't him. Just a deformed reflection staring back in sorrow. Pale face. Brown hair. Crooked teeth. Tyler Joseph?

More feet on cold tile. More silent, echoing repetitions of his name.

The clock's ticking taunted him, danced like bugs under the surface of his skin, screeched in his ear of the countdown. Five hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-nine seconds until school. His new school. New town. New life. New person. Who was he again?

"Tyler Joseph."

***

"So you are?"

"Tyler Joseph."

"Tyler Joseph..." The teacher hummed, scanning her eyes quickly across the fresh ink of the attendance paper. "Tyler Joseph... Tyler Joseph..."

Tyler gulped, fingers jittering anxiously by his side.

"Well, here you are! Finally! Tyler Joseph!" She shot up in rejoice, grinning and squinting her eyes in apparent excitement. She bent her head to the right, wide eyes meeting the student's more frightened ones before adding, "Nice of you to join our class!"

Tyler responded with a simple nod, unsure of how to handle himself in the face of such phony animation.

"I'm Mrs. Nelson, and I'll be your English teacher this year. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. We're currently working on some reading, but you can easily jump right in! But, that reminds me: you'll need books. Books... books... books..." Mrs. Nelson chanted in a sing-song manner, moving from her desk to the scattered bookshelf against the wall. Her fingers danced across the dusty titles, a sharp scent revealing their ancient age. Finally, her hands grasped a used title as she gently pulled upon it, her smile returning.

"This is what we are reading. You'll be able to catch up soon enough," her words were formed with a pleasureful tone as she handed Tyler the novel, but that didn't stop a pit of anxiety from leaping in his stomach. A move mid-year was enough to worry about, and the added stress of navigating and surviving school was already piling up.

"How about you sit by the window next to Josh?" The teacher nodded towards the back. "He's the kid with the blue hair."

Tyler shot a glance up in that direction, landing on the smile of the boy his age. The latter motioned with a wave to come join the empty seat next to him, pointing to the lone desk that had previously been unoccupied. Tyler nodded to Mrs. Nelson before willingly making his way toward the seat, quick to hurry away from the spotlight of the front.

He felt the eyes of other students pierce him as he trudged across the room, already hyper-aware of his curiosity-inducing presence. Tyler was not looking to stick out from the crowd, a concept that was foreign to him at his old school, but the open possibilities that were laid out at this new location were the only things going for him. He was feel to reinvent himself, free to define his existence in anyway he pleased, free to branch from whatever ties were holding him back.

"I'm Josh," the boy's voice broke Tyler's thought process from its wandering trail before the latter was even aware of his arrival at his new seat.

"Tyler," he responded, placing his red backpack on the floor beside him.

You're going to have to engage in more talk than that. If you want to be this new person you're so fixated on, you're going to have to work for it. You have to be better than this.

"So, what is this class like?" Tyler asked, straightening the book that was handed to him on his desk. "A lot of work?"

"It isn't too bad in terms of workload," Josh shrugged, a smiling emerging due to the initiation of the conversation. "It's just mind-numbingly boring."

Tyler chuckled. "As long as it's not stress-inducing, I'm fine with it."

"Yeah, you'll be fine," Josh confirmed. "Plus, at least I now have someone to pass the time with."

***

"If you want you can sit with us at lunch. It's just a couple of my friends, nothing overwhelming," Josh closed his locker revealing Tyler standing on the other side, back slouched against the tan wall.

"And they wouldn't mind?"

"Of course they wouldn't!" Josh exclaimed, beginning to follow the mass concentration of students headed toward the lunchroom. Tyler hurried behind. "Anyone who shares the same music taste with us is destined to fit in. Plus, they're honestly all very kind. They'll find you cool." 

"I hope so," Tyler mumbled, trying to keep up with Josh before he disappeared in the swarm of teens. He was able to follow the tall flock of blue hair, however, and this made losing him a much harder task. Despite that, the size of this high school was significantly larger than his previous one, and this expansive number of people now in his horizon overwhelmed him.

However, they were both able to find their way to the table nestled in the back of the lunchroom, away from the obnoxiously congested center. Tyler swallowed his fear before new faces were in his sight.

"Everyone, this is Tyler! He's new," Josh smiled, giving Tyler a gentle nudge forward from his hiding spot behind Josh. "He likes The Killers too, guys."

"Hey! I'm Jenna."

"I'm Dallon."

"Brendon!"

Tyler smiled, added a small wave, and took a seat next to Josh. He was prepared to be swarmed with questions. And he was correct in his assumption.

"Where did you move from?" Brendon asked, reaching into his lunch bag to pull out a bag of cookies.

"A small town outside outside of Columbus, Ohio. Nothing really special," he answered, leaving his lunch flat on the table. He wasn't too hungry after that long math class from the morning.

"What brings you here then?" Dallon added to the conversation, eyes not glancing up from the math sheet he had been doing on the table.

Brendon gave him a slight nudge, but Dallon shook his head, whispering, "But I need to get it done!"

Tyler thought that they had forgot about the question asked toward him due to this side chatter, but that conclusion was proven to be false when he noticed the stares of everyone else. His words quickly fumbled out to give a response to address that. "Dad's work," he simply stated. "A classic case."

"Well nice of you to join us!" Jenna smiled, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "This high school sucks, but hopefully we'll make it a little bit more bearable."

***

"So did you find the basketball team?"

It was dinner time—chicken and pasta—but the conversation was eerily silent and laced with tension besides his dad's booming voice directed towards Tyler.

"I didn't have any of them in my classes," Tyler answered truthfully.

"Well, what are you going to do when it comes time to tryouts in a month?"

Tyler froze.

"You're new to the school as a junior, and everyone else already has positions and spots on the team. What did I tell you?" His dad shook his head, eyes secretly fuming.

"That it is important to get to know the basketball team for chemistry."

"Exactly," his dad nodded. "It's not like you're trying to get a scholarship for basketball or anything," he smiled caustically.

His siblings eyed each other nervously.

"Did you sit with anyone at lunch then, honey?" His mom asked gently, resting her hand upon his shoulder.

"I found someone in my English class to sit with." He twisted his fork around in the pasta before continuing. He was hesitant with his words. "Same music taste and everything. They all seem really kind."

"That's nice and all Tyler, but getting into a college isn't always nice. You know that you need basketball money," his father pursed his lips into a frown.

"Chris, come on!" Tyler's mother warned him, and Tyler's stomach flipped.

What a horrible start already. You're already ruining it all. You need to work on being a better son. Better at school, better with people, better at basketball. No more disappointing people. No more failing. You have to do better. Better, better, better, better.

"No, I'm sorry," Tyler spoke up suddenly. "It's my fault; basketball relationships are important. I need to prioritize them."

Chris eyed knowingly at Tyler's mother, nodding his head soundly. "That sounds more like it."

"Yeah, well I have some homework to do upstairs," Tyler kept his head low while speaking. He didn't make eye contact with anyone as he returned his plate to the kitchen sink, racing up to his room. Upon landing on his unmade bed, he attempted to ignore the harshly whispered chatter stemming from the vicious table below, acting as proof of his own awfulness.

His agenda taunted him with all the tasks he had to work on: reading up to page 300 in his English book, completing fifty sets of Calculus questions, making through sixty pages of his physics textbook, and other assignments that stacked up due to his quick interruption in the middle of a new curriculum. Sure, he had to have some time to complete this, but time was the enemy; there was never enough. And with basketball starting soon and practices sure to come, more schoolwork undoubtingly accumulating, and more troubles destined to arise, time only existed in the present to Tyler. Now was the only chance to get this done.

But can I?

Tyler took a breath. No more stressing was a new rule. Just get it done.


	2. I'm Gonna Get Myself Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Threat of Joy" by The Strokes

The classroom was dead silent. It was seven-thirty, too early for most, and the artificial, fluorescent lighting pouring from the stained ceiling didn't help.

"You good?" Josh commented, looking up as Tyler pulled into English class while lugging his backpack behind tired eyes. The lights highlighted the dark circles under his eyes, his face seemingly drained of any spirit. It was only his second day at his new school, but the effects of fatigue were already settling into his face visibly.

"Yeah. I'm fine, why?" Tyler asked back, unaware of the exhausted look his figure carried. Shoulders hunched, feet dragging, eyes swollen. It had been a late night.

"Well, you just seem tired," Josh shrugged and unloaded his English binder from the depths of his bag.

Just remain positive. You had homework, and you had to practice basketball. It could be worse. It's alright. It's alright.

"I'm alright," Tyler hastily replied. There was part of his mind that seemed to be flagging himself, alerting that he was already sleep-deprived, already too burnt out to function. There was a feeling of burden and stress growing: too much work with too little time, too much pressure with not enough want. But not complaining and remaining positive was part of his new plan, and those thoughts simply couldn't remain.

"If you say so," Josh replied. "Hopefully moving and adjusting isn't too hard."

"Yeah, I'm trying," Tyler smiled.

A smile was the ideal symbol of positivity. Good. Smile often.

He tried to carry over that same mindset throughout the day, especially as he walked into his math class thirty seconds late, still unsure of how to navigate the large school. His teacher didn't seem to mind, but upon gazing the available seats, Tyler was disappointed to realize that where he sat last class was now occupied. There was now only one chair to take in the back left corner, so Tyler dragged himself there with a sigh. He sat by himself.

He was unfamiliar with anyone else in this class, and no one seemed to be interested in familiarizing with the new kid. It was junior year, and most of this class was even full of seniors. They were already set in their ways, set in their beings, set with themselves.

So Tyler knew that he had to take matters into his own hands; he had to change that himself. This was his new start, his new life, and he wasn't going to spend it sitting alone in the back of a Calculus classroom.

He began studying who he should approach around the room. There were a handful of football players in the front, sporting their uniforms as they most likely inched their way into the end of their fall season. There were some girls to his left, seemingly more invested in their phones rather than what the teacher was writing on the board. And there were some boys to the right, eyes fluttering shut and minds already sleep.

But then he spotted his targets: two boys in basketball shirts.

So when the teacher announced that the next series of problems were to be completed as classwork with a group, Tyler knew exactly who to see.

"Hey, mind if I join your group?"

The blonde-haired boy shared a glance with the taller one who shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"Okay, great," Tyler smiled to himself, reveling in his small success as he pulled up a chair. "I'm Tyler."

The two boys also shared their names—Matt and Tim—but didn't seem to engage further.

Initiate it. Start your future. Come on!

"So I saw that you're wearing basketball shirts. Do you guys play for the school team?" Tyler said, copying down the first problem from the textbook.

"Yeah, we do actually," Matt perked his head up. "Varsity. Plus, Tryouts are coming up."

I found them. This is good. This is good.

"I'll definitely be there," Tyler confirmed. "I played Varsity at my last school too, and we placed third in our Ohio division." He needed to prove that he was serious and that he would be a good asset, even if that mean he had to announce his accomplishments.

"Well that's some serious stuff," Tim nodded, eyebrows raised. "You should come join us on Friday at the park across the school. We'll be doing some pick-up matches to prepare for preseason. You can just jump right in."

Elated, Tyler broke out into a grin. "Of course. That sounds great."

"We start around six o'clock. It's intense—be prepared," Matt added.

Tyler didn't care about the details. The only thing swarming his mind was the delightful fact that his dad was going to be so glad.

***

"My mom said you guys can all come over my house this Friday," Brendon started to say once everyone was settled down at the lunch spot. "We'll have some pizza, music, snacks. It'll be great. I can bring out my guitar, and if Dallon brings his bass we can put on a small performance."

"Ooh, that sounds awesome! I can bring dessert or something," Jenna chimed in. "I've been meaning to try out a cookie recipe."

"The more food the better," Brendon agreed."Plus, I'll order garlic knots too."

Dallon, who was once again immersed in homework without any sight of food, was shaking his head in frustration at the math problems before him. He allowed himself to stop briefly though, pausing for a moment to add, "I'll bring my bass" and then question, "What time?"

Brendon hummed. "I don't know. Around five? As early as you'd like." He took another cookie out of his bag. "We can even get started earlier if you'll show me that new stuff you were working on."

Dallon made a face. "Nah, it sucks anyway." 

That comment cascaded Brendon and Dallon into a side conversation, but Jenna was quick to carry on with the information.

"Oh, and Tyler!" Jenna started. "You can obviously join us too."

Tyler froze, unable to nod or signal or comprehend his new dilemma.

"It'll be great to get to know each other, so I'll add you to our group chat and send you his address. We always have a ton of fun. Plus, Dallon and Brendon's music is really great," she continued rambling on, fixated in the idealistic excitement of the event.

"Well, I might not be able to make it actually," Tyler said, voice soft and eyes down. "I was invited to play basketball with some boys for the school team, and my dad would kill me if I didn't go."

"Ooh, basketball?" Brendon broke out into a grin, reconnecting into the group's conversation. "I didn't know we were friends with a baller." He pretended to take a shot in the air, laughing at his own amusement.

Dallon rolled his eyes at Brendon.

"Who are you going with?" Jenna inquired.

"Their names were Matt and Tim. Just some random kids in my math class," Tyler explained, tensing his shoulders. "It seems like it's with the whole team, and I don't really know them."

Dallon looked up from his work—a rare occurrence—but then quickly reverted his eyes back down to his work once Jenna made eye contact with him.

"I'm sorry, guys," Tyler suddenly felt inadequate. "I'd skip basketball in a heartbeat, trust me."

"No, it's fine!" Josh piped up, Jenna nodding her head to agree.

"Basketball is cool. Maybe you can join us after, and if not, we'll find another day easily," Josh said.

Jenna took out her phone and handed it to Tyler, smiling. "Just put your number in, and we'll see if we can work it out. I'm sure we can.

***

"I'm going to go to the park with some kids on the basketball team this Friday," Tyler beamed proudly, excited to announce his accomplishment at the dinner table and await his dad's praise of him. He was doing what was expected of him. He was taking initiative of his own future. He was starting his new life.

"Oh, that's so great!" His mom was the first one to speak up, a flush of color dancing on her cheeks. "I hope all the boys are nice."

"Varsity kids?" His dad questioned.

Tyler nodded, twirling his spoon in the soup in front of him.

"You know that this school's basketball team is probably going to be harder, right? There are more kids, and their statistics are good. This means more competition," his dad continued.

"I know, but I practice a lot. I'll fit right in," Tyler stated, sure of himself. He dedicated most of his energy to the sport, and it would be ludicrous to think that his abilities were subpar.

"Maybe you'll fit in, but will you stand out?" His dad asked, raising an eyebrow.

His siblings slurped their soups.

Tyler nodded vigorously. "I will. I'll put all my effort into this season."

"I just don't think you understand how important this year is for your future, Tyler. Colleges will be at the sidelines of every game, looking for the best player, scouting the best talent. These kids have played with each other for the past years, and they are also working very hard. I'm sure all of them are probably out right out in their backyard shooting baskets. Everyone works hard. You just have to work harder. Tougher. Better."

Tyler sighed, leaning back against his chair. "I know."

"So after dinner, I can expect to see you outside shooting baskets," his dad stated simply, making eye contact with the younger boy.

Tyler just nodded.

"I'm only saying this because I want what's best for you, kid. I want you to be at the best university, playing for a great team. You've been working up to that moment, and it would be a shame to let all of your talent go to waste. This is the proving year, Tyler. You can do it," his dad smiled easily. "Friday is three days away. You still have time to prepare."

"I'll try my best," Tyler responded, watching the hot steam rise from his soup and warmly breeze against his face.

"Try?" His dad questioned. "Or do?"

***

"497."

"498."

"499."

"500!"

***

Tyler finally took his books out of his bag, scattering them across his messy bed. He had more English reading, more math homework, and stills tons of catch up work. His head throbbed from his lack of sleep over the past couple of days, his eyes were begging to just stay shut, but it was seven-thirty already and there was so much work that had be done.

He took out his phone from the bottom of his backpack which had been sitting there untouched since returning home from school. It was being lit up with notifications from three unknown numbers, and Tyler easily assumed that it was Dallon, Brendon, and Jenna.

They were all chatting, talking about some random topic that Tyler did not follow, but he made sure to put the phone numbers in his contacts before setting it aside to do homework. He'd love to work on building friendships and relaxing, but homework was homework and it came first.

This is what he wanted, right?


	3. Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is pretty lame. I tried my best.

The next few days passed by as a blurry mess. For it being only the first week at this school, Tyler couldn't help but feel an enormous amount of exhaustion wave over him. It was building up, becoming increasingly unbearable in the span of a couple of days, but Tyler tried really hard not to focus on that. He was fine. He was surviving. He was alive. That was the positive side, right?

He tried to mask any inch of him that was portraying this overtiredness as well. Part of being this new person involved not being tied down to his emotions, not being solely comprised of his weariness. If he avoided the questions of “Are you okay?” and “Is something wrong?” he could more easily pretend that a negative side of him didn’t exist all together. It made it easier, right?

Right.

Maybe.

Maybe it was normal to be this tired. Changing schools and getting through the first week would be a challenge for anyone. Maybe he had to give it time, let it improve.

But it was fine, anyway.

English was fine. There was more reading assigned. Just another fifty pages. He could do that. Fifty pages was easy. Math was fine, too. Spending class alone in the back of the classroom was not the worst thing that could happen. He was being independent. Functioning on his own. Physics. Fine. Spanish. Fine. Everything else. Fine.

But it was fine. He was fine.

“So, how has this school been so far to you?” Jenna prompted him, snapping him out of his thought trance. “It’s the end of the week already.”

“Oh, yeah. Friday. Well, it’s been fine,” he said, shrugging at first but recovering quickly by adding a smile. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s fine.”

“The basketball boys treating you well?” Dallon questioned, an eyebrow raised.

“I haven’t really talked to them,” Tyler shrugged. “I’m not looking forward to tonight at all.”

“But don’t you like basketball?” Josh spoke up.

“Yeah, I do. I guess,” he drew his shoulders back, shaken. “It’s complicated, but it’s okay. I’m probably going to get a scholarship for it. Well,  _hopefully_ , I’ll get a scholarship for it, so…” his voice drifted off, fading with each word.

“A scholarship’s cool,” Brendon chimed in. “You must be insanely good then.”

“I work at it, but enough about basketball.” Tyler said plainly, eagerly willing to shift the conversation topic. “So, what are you guys doing tonight? Maybe I’ll be able to catch it?”

“Well,” Brendon began, a wide grin developing, “Dallon is going to show us his songwriting skills, And, hopefully, he’ll bring his bass?” He phrased the latter as a question, hoping to elicit an enthusiastic response.

“I’ll see, but no promises.” Dallon rolled his eyes. “I’m so much worse than you make me out to be.”

“He’s actually  _really_  good,” Josh turned to Tyler, eyes wide. “The best songwriter I’ve met.”

“That’s because you don’t know any other songwriters!” Dallon countered, obviously frustrated with the logic being used. Nonetheless, he dropped his counter completely when Tyler spoke up. 

“Basketball ends around eight. I’ll try my best to stop by.”

***

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Joseph,” a mess of blonde hair taunted, a face he was unfamiliar with. How did he know who he was? “This isn’t Ohio anymore.”

That statement elicited laughter from various directions—behind him, in front of him, to his sides—all around. He was seemingly enclosed in a circle of complete cackling, laying helpless on the asphalt after widely missing a basket.

He heard a sharp basketball bounce to his right, and he snapped his head around to reveal the antagonist standing sharply with lips tied in a smirk. Matt.

“Just going to sit there?” He shrugged, eyes shooting daggers into his skull. “I thought basketball was supposed to be played standing up?”

_Your new year. Your fresh start. You can’t let that behavior stand._

“Thought you’d come here and clean up? I don’t think it’s that easy,” Matt pursed his lips, spewing his menacing words off the tip of his tongue. “You don’t look like a threat.”

_You can’t let them walk all over you. They can’t dictate this year, who you am, who you will be._

Tyler nodded to himself. He only had ten more seconds to recuperate his ideals. His values. What he was going to stand up for. And this moment was all he had.

_You will_ be _despite them, despite everyone else, despite everything_ —

“Yeah, you wish,” Tyler took a step up, dusting the small sprinkles of black dirt that littered his knees off of himself. He tilted his chin up, a mannerism he had learned that supposedly asserted dominance, and kept his hands open for the ball. He was taking charge.

“Let’s see how you do this round,” Tyler continued, nodding his head. “Don’t speak too soon.”

Tyler’s remarks were proven not to be overconfident by any means. He came back to score two three-pointers in the next game, carrying his team of blue shirts to a short-lived victory in their five minute matches, and he now stood on the sidelines while the two other groups battled it out. He was examining closely for an assessment of group dynamics: who everyone liked, who scored the most, who his dad would tell him he needed to watch out for.

Matt seemed to be the likely candidate for this leadership position. He carried himself with an undoubted swagger, and everyone filtered the conversation through his egotistical mouth.

But Tyler also knew this: if anyone seemed higher in ranks or superior in talent, he was dead to his dad. Matt couldn’t be in control, couldn’t be the scorer, couldn’t be better.

Tyler was going to claim the field.

He tried to ignore the repressed feeling inside of his mind before he stepped out, the one that was silently screaming in the corner, itching in a way, warning him of his fraudulent ventures. Maybe he wasn’t doing his for himself. Maybe he was the diseased host of a vicarious dream, entangled in the will of someone else’s passion. Maybe he was the outburst of his own inner shame and the harsh standards of others. A response to what told him he was not good enough, not talented enough, not smart enough, so he aspired to refute those claims to the highest degree.

But he couldn’t douse himself in the stress and confusion of his mind, the exact distraction that he promised he would rid himself of. He was going to do this for only himself. He was going to do this for his own inner passion. No consequences. No worries.

Right?

Maybe.

***

“I can’t believe that, man. I can’t believe we’re going to have  _that_  type of talent on our team this year. We’re guaranteed a spot in the championship now.” A boy, who Tyler had just learned his name as John, clapped his hands in disbelief. “This is an absolute game changer. An  _absolute_  game changer.”

Matt trailed the group from behind, Tyler suddenly assuming his position as leader the pack. That was enough to place a small smirk of achievement on Tyler’s face as he observed the team around who was fixated on him. It was a selfish fulfillment to be perceived as superior, but all Tyler could think about was his dad’s face from the car when he saw Tyler in control. He deserved that reward.

“Well, we do this once every week,” another kid, Mike, chimed in. “So you’ll undoubtingly have to come next Friday too.”

Matt suddenly stepped up, walking side-by-side Tyler with long strides that sped the pace. “Yeah, you’re welcome here next week. It seems like I misjudged your abilities,” he dragged his eyes to span across the smaller boy. “Let’s hope you can bring that same energy next week.”

“Of course.” Tyler nodded quickly in response, seeing his dad’s van come into his field of vision. He straightened his back, relaxed his shoulders, and added a smile. His dad was going to be so proud. He was sure of it this time.

But before he took his final steps into the car, he was paraded with a chorus of encouragements from everyone around him. “Great job, Tyler,” flooded his ears along with, “Stellar job,” and various other praises; Tyler just made sure the car door was open long enough for his dad to hear.

And that finally seemed to please him. His dad spoke his first words of encouragement of the entire week, praising Tyler for his seemingly great performance and rank amongst his teammates. His dad said this practice proved his logic of hard work. He had been out there in his driveway every day, he stayed late at practices all last year, and he was actually trying to shape life his toward his future. His hard work had paid off. This year is going to be great for you, kid. All you have to do is keep going at it. Keep improving. Shooting baskets. All the time. All you really have here is basketball. Basketball. Hard work. The team.

Basketball.

“This is what hard work looks like, Tyler,” his dad clenched his fists with a beam. “This is all I want for you.”

Tyler leaned back on the seat and took a breath. “Can you drive me to a friend’s house now?”


	4. Young Forever

He arrived at Brendon’s house at around nine. His dad insisted that he stop at home and change before intruding at someone else’s house, and Tyler had no other options than to silently agree with a nod. He didn’t want to be the root of any more trouble, especially when he had worked so hard to achieve the level of praise he was maintaining now. He didn’t need the high standard he was at to collapse. 

When he arrived at Brendon’s, Jenna opened the door in little time, wide eyes and face engulfed in a smile. She welcomed Tyler in, informing him that everyone was hanging in the basement, before guiding Tyler down through the door at the end of the hallway. 

“Tyler’s here!” Jenna announced animatedly, rushing over to the couch. To Tyler, it didn’t seem like there was much going on. Brendon was sprawled out across the cushions, obviously consuming the most surface area, while Dallon was on his phone right by Brendon’s feet. Josh was seated normally in the only other vacant space remaining, so Jenna was forced to place herself on the ground. Tyler followed her steps and took a seat on the carpet.

“How was basketball?” Brendon said, kicking his feet in the air and earning a “Stop it, Brendon!” from Dallon. 

“It actually went well,” Tyler answered happily, the question flooding him with a rejuvenated feeling of worthiness. The details swarmed back—scoring, working, praising—and Tyler allowed himself to relish in that temporary feeling. He was comfortable with himself. He worked for the praise. He deserved to be here with new friends. This was the end of the week that he was working towards. 

“See, you are a baller!” Brendon laughed loudly, living in his self-provoked amusement. “I’m just going to call you baller from now on, Tyler.” The chuckling continued with his second comment.

That reaction, however, was short-lived as Jenna lightly smacked him in the back. “Oh, shut up,” she rolled her eyes playfully. “I’m sure Tyler wouldn’t approve. He probably thinks you’re the most annoying person he’s ever met.” 

Tyler froze, the limelight now centered on him, but Brendon was thankfully able to reclaim his statement.

“Don’t worry you both. I’ll keep my baller jokes sporadic.” 

Dallon looked up from his phone, mouth slightly parted as if he wanted to speak, when the doorbell sounded distantly, and Brendon instantaneously sprang up. 

“Oh my gosh. They’re here!” 

The sound of his legs shooting up the stairs shook the house, and Jenna once again rolled her eyes at his wild behavior. 

“Brendon invited two of our friends over. They sat with us at lunch last year,” Jenna explained to Tyler, addressing his bewildered expression. “They were seniors, so they graduated already.” 

Tyler nodded his head. 

“Guys!” He heard Brendon shout from upstairs. “They’re here! They’re actually here.” 

Dallon anticipatedly abandoned his phone at his side, getting ready to greet the incoming guests. Josh and Jenna too seemed excited as built-up, potential energy danced across their faces. 

As the sound of feet on steps grew louder and louder, signalling the guests were approaching closer and closer, everyone was ready to jump on their toes. The two boys’ feet peeked first from behind the stairwell wall, both wearing Vans, before their full bodies sprung from the unseen. It was a dramatic grand reveal, and the energy seemed to burst all at once.

Tyler had never seen people so excited to see their friends. That was a foreign concept to him.

Dallon sprouted up at once to begin throwing hugs left and right while Jenna and Josh trailed behind to express their eager greetings. 

Tyler sat awkwardly behind on the floor, observing the two new boys standing in front of him.

One of them was slightly shorter with a fedora placed upon his head; the other sported a unique, jet-black sweep of hair. Both were undoubtedly euphoric to reunite with their former friends. 

“I can’t believe you guys came,” Dallon remarked, shaking his head. “Brendon didn’t tell us you were coming until an hour ago.” 

“It really isn’t too bad of a drive. Three hours is nothing to spend the weekend down here,” Pete shrugged, a smile still fixed on his lips.

“We really should be able to do this more,” Patrick nodded, a sudden grin appearing upon sight of Josh’s hair color. “Blue this time?” 

“Blue,” Josh confirmed, running a hand through his cerulean curls and giving Patrick a hug. “It’s an evolution from the pink.” 

Tyler chuckled at that thought—Josh with pink hair was a sight that Tyler wanted to see—but all eyes were now turned to Tyler due to his small chortle. 

“Oh, that’s Tyler!” Brendon immediately rushed over to the boy, getting him to stand up. “He’s new to our school. He came this week actually.” 

Tyler stood up due to the cue from Brendon, placing himself in front of both smaller boys.

“Patrick Stumph.” He put out his hand to shake it, and Tyler reciprocated the action.

“Pete Wentz.” Another handshake followed.

“The formality,” Brendon laughed, beginning to once again head over to the couch. The herd of people followed, and this time, Brendon made sure not to cover every inch of available seating’s surface area.

Tyler remained in his position on the floor, not wanting to infiltrate the group of friend’s reunion nor take up any unneeded space, but Jenna scooted over and insisted that Tyler was more comfortable. That simple action made Tyler smile inside.

“So, how’s college been?” Dallon initiated the conversion, leaning himself back onto the pillow behind him. 

“Busy,” Patrick answered, sighing loudly. “There’s so many classes, so much work, and not that much time. Plus, the dorms are gross. Pete swears he saw a rat running around the place last week.” 

Josh winced, teeth hissing in disgust. 

“Why couldn’t you go to a closer school? You guys could just take my basement and live with me,” Brendon started, pleading with his eyes. “There’s a bathroom down here, ample space for whatever you’d like, and we could even buy you a mini-fridge and microwave. Then, you could hang out with us everyday like last year.” 

Pete shook his head apologetically.

“There’s no rats,” Brendon begged again, hands joining together to further plead. 

“Thanks for the offer, but it’s honestly refreshing to be away from this town. People still suck where we are now, but I don’t think anyone could ever match what we had to deal with here. Last year sucked, your school sucked, and those kids are so malicious on the—” 

“Pete,” Jenna said sternly. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he bit his lip. “That’s over now. It’s the past. We don’t need to relive it.” 

There was a slight silence, only the distant sound of Brendon’s parents watching television upstairs that bled through the walls could be heard. 

“No one’s giving you that trouble now?” Patrick questioned, eyebrows raised. 

“No one,” Josh confirmed. “It’s been a decent year so far.” 

“What defines decent?” Dallon commented. 

“Decent in terms of people,” Josh corrected himself, backing away from the conversation. 

“Well!” Jenna exclaimed, hands clapping together once. “Let’s not linger in the negatives here. I’m sure we have a lot else to catch up on.” 

***

The night passed, and Tyler felt somewhat normal. 

He was immersed in regular conversation with regular people his age. He was coming off of a high victory in basketball. His friends were kind. His parents were proud. Basketball was looking bright. 

This is where he wanted to be, and this is where he needed to be. It didn’t matter if it had taken an exhaustive amount of work and stress to be there. It wasn’t even that bad. Stress is normal. Work is necessary. 

“And so Brendon was forced to call the cops, and Dallon just hid in the bushes the whole time,” Jenna immediately burst into laughter. “It was one of the craziest things I’ve ever experienced.” 

Tyler admittedly had only been half-listening; he was too busy paying attention to his mind going off on its own tangents. That usually was a bad thing; he had a tendency to nitpick details and thoroughly examine his thoughts. But now, he simply flushed all that was bad and looked ahead at the good. 

“So, can Brendon just admit it?” Pete asked, a smirk enveloping the bottom half of his face. 

“Admit what?” Brendon snapped back. “There’s nothing to admit.” 

“You know,” Patrick wore the same smirk that Pete had. “We’re all thinking it.” 

“Drop it,” Jenna said sharply, eyeing both Pete and Patrick. “He’ll admit it when he’s ready. Just give him some space. 

“But admit what?” Brendon repeated, this time, laced with more agitation. 

Dallon sat half-asleep, eyes fluttering open and closed rapidly. 

“Nothing,” Pete shook his head. “It’s getting late. I feel Dallon.” 

“Two in the morning isn’t late,” Brendon countered. “This is early for me.” 

“For some people, it’s been a long week,” Dallon murmured. 

“I’m in for sleeping,” Josh said. 

“Me too,” Jenna yawned. 

“Me three,” Tyler added. 

And so they slept, squished onto the small couch, in the warm basement of Brendon’s home. It had been a long week for them all.


	5. Falling Down Around Me

The thrill of peace that Friday brought was soon crushed by Monday morning's spirit. It was raining, of course, and the millions of drops that cascaded onto the window in Tyler's math class only added to the dismal mood. He had a test today, and the teacher was busy standing in front droning on about instructions and what the exam entailed. However, instead of listening to the monotone voice that rattled his skull, Tyler was fixated on the racing drops of water smearing on the glass next to him. He turned it into a game, concentrating on which droplet would reach the windowsill the fastest.

Tyler's weekend hadn't been too joyful after Friday night; his studying for math had consumed most of his weekend. Being a new addition to the class gave him a disadvantage on learning the material to start with, but he had mostly been up to the same point in the curriculum at his old school. There was just a variable of factors that could easily go wrong in Tyler's mind due to joining this school so suddenly, so he wasn't going to let chance dictate the outcomes. Studying was the way to take matters into his own hands and guarantee, to some extent, a positive return.

His studying habits had been something that had been instilled in him for quite some time. He was never satisfied with his elementary school spelling test unless it was accompanied by some scratch-and-sniff sticker that everyone seemed to marvel over. His mom and him would rehearse the words the night before over and over again, and Tyler wouldn't stop until he nailed each one.

The same practices carried over to middle school, even when work became slightly heavier, and Tyler wasn't happy unless he received an 'A'. High school marched along with triple the work that required triple the effort, but this time, Tyler's strive for absolute perfection only grew exponentially, driven by a fear of failure that shook his core. Perfection was necessary in school, in basketball, in life, in everything. It was exhausting to keep up, but Tyler was trying his best not to focus on the exhausting aspect of it all. He just wanted to do his best on everything. Which usually meant near-perfect. Just like his aim for this math test.

"Remember to put your names on top," his teacher started walking around the room finally, distributing the stapled pieces of papers to different desks. "You'll have the whole entire period, so take your time. But don't forget," he paused, taking a breath, "There are no calculators allowed."

Tyler was sure to mumble a thank you once he reviewed his own copy of his exam, briefly skimming over the entire work to gather an initial impression before divulging into the arithmetic. However, a lump caught in his throat when he gazed over what he was expected to do. It was much harder than he expected.

The first problem was something that he practiced numerous times at home, so at least he felt some sort of confidence in answering that one. It called for him to revisit a couple of shaky topics from last year, something that a calculator would have easily assisted him on, but he tried to remain optimistic as he drew out a triangle and labelled the angles. He was going to do fine.

But the next problem was a beast of its own. And the next one. And the problem after that. Eraser marks and shavings littered the paper, evidence of the amount of work Tyler was hastily producing. He was dividing quickly, adding quickly, simplifying quickly—a type of speed that was only begging for foolish mistakes to be made.

But the time was dwindling down rapidly as Tyler tried to figure out how to solve the fourth question, but he kept getting different answers. It wasn't working out. His pencil wasn't moving fast enough. Another glance to the clock revealed that he only had five minutes left and two more problems to tackle, so he simply circled one answer that seemed right and moved on. That was not the ideal test taking strategy.

He was destined to fail this for sure.

The last problem mocked Tyler with its freshly printed ink sitting tauntingly on the otherwise white paper, the numbers and fractional exponents already screaming of his defeat. With little to no time left until the bell was to sound, Tyler threw a quick look around the room.

He was the only one left taking the test.

His pencil shakily danced across the page due to his unstable, nervous arm, attempting to make some sense of the confusing question presented. A few scribbles here and there of random numbers and a final circle of a jumbled equation signalled his crammed finish, but the final result was short of checked completion. He cursed himself silently for not being able to scan over his work for mistakes, but a quick assessment of his position on answers left him even more frantic. He wasn't sure if any of his answers were right, and he was even more confident that some of them were completely wrong. A 'C' at best was Tyler's frightful prediction, a grade that he hadn't seen written on his paper in over three years. His criteria for failing was anything below a ninety-five, and anything ranging in the seventies was absolutely atrocious.

Tyler reluctantly stood up to hand in his test before the bell sounded, already feeling oncoming tears gathering in his eyes.

_Get your act together, Tyler. Snap out of it._

He put his test on the pile of work with his head low, unwilling to expose his wilting face of emotions to everyone.

He then returned to his desk, soaking up the last seconds alone before he had to venture into the crowded cafeteria and hide any drop of negativity seeping through.

_What happened? Did you even get one problem right? How did this even happen if you spent four hours studying over the weekend? How did you bomb this? This teacher is now going to think you're an awful student! This is not how to make a good first impression. How did you let this happen, Tyler?_

He was trying so hard to make everything work out correctly, but every time he seemed to be flying straight, there was a detour. His plane was falling. Aiming for the ground.

The bell rang. He had to take control of his steering to face the world.

***

If control meant masking his pain, that's exactly what he did. Lunch was next, and concealing any ounce of emotion was the strict plan on Tyler's agenda. He was dealing with something so insignificant as a math test, even if it stood for a larger world of an unrealistic and exhausting aim for perfection.Tyler didn't want to be perceived as someone who couldn't deal with trivial  matters when people actually had substantial problems. Meanwhile, he had been crying in the back of math class.

But Tyler was glad when no one suspected a thing at the lunch table, and he was able to easily slip into the background of a conversation about everyone else's weekend. Dallon and Brendon shared how they had explored the town on Saturday night with Pete and Patrick, Jenna raising eyebrows as to what they meant by that.

Josh rambled on about how church friends had visited on Sunday after mass, mocking how his own family too perfectly embodied the stereotypical Christian household. "My mom doesn't even let me listen to the Killers!" He shook his head. "She claims that any band named that is clearly guilty of sin. How ridiculous!"

Dallon let out a laugh.

Josh met him with a grin. "But don't worry, I have a stash of their CDs hidden underneath my bed."

***

Monday night fell quickly into the darkness. Time was approaching the desolate days of winter, and the fall of the sun inched sooner and sooner each day. Tyler liked to watch the blue sky slowly dim into black through his bedroom window in front of his desk, various pages of schoolwork sprawled out across it. It was a nice distraction from the list of bullet-pointed work in his agenda; it was a nice distraction was the bottled stress that seemed to be carved into the week. He had no motivation left in him to do work; his math class earlier had drained every bit of energy from him. If he had spent his whole weekend studying with no payoff, what was the point now?

But he couldn't delay his homeworks completion; he would lose points on that, cascade into a system of never trying in school work, slipping grades, failing basketball skills. He'd sit on the bench. His parents would get mad. Infuriated. He'd never get into a college, he'd never succeed.

He took his math textbook and threw it onto the ground below his feet, sinking onto his bed. He thought he heard his mother call— "What was that?"—from the kitchen below downstairs, but he ignored it. It was nothing. It was absolutely nothing. His mess of emotions was nothing. He was Tyler Joseph: perfect at everything. Tyler Joseph: never sad, never stressed. Tyler Joseph: impeccably happy and successful.

He buried his face in his pillow, staying frozen for a moment. The sinking feeling in this stomach sat dully, achingly, menacingly. The nerves spreading through his arms erupted into a fire, exploding, burning, quaking.

But he had to get other this. This wasn't going to make it better. This wasn't going to fix things. He, after all, had been instilling a new plan in himself.

_If you want to be this new person you're so fixated on, you're going to have to work for it. You have to be better than this._

Tyler sat up.

_You need to work on being a better. Better at school, better with people, better at basketball. No more disappointing people. No more failing. You have to do better. Better, better, better, better._

He started to walk over to his desk again.

_Your new year. Your fresh start. You can't let this behavior stand._

He put his math textbook on the table, collecting it from its helpless spread on the floor, and pulled out a fresh sheet of notebook paper. He tried his best to ignore the silent tear that fell down and created a wet indent, and he tried to his best to ignore the multitude that fell after as he attempted to complete another series of complex problems.

***

"What'd you get?" Tyler heard the chimes of Matt and Tim to his right the next day in math class. "I'm practically sure  _everyone_  failed this thing."

Although announcing that he was very disappointed in the overall grades, their teacher was a fast grader and had quickly put the results of the day prior in everyone's hands.

Tyler was sitting frozen, unable to turn over the test that laying upside down on his desk to reveal his grade. Yet, he forced himself to snap out of his daze to turn around and greet the question.

Tim continued with the dialogue upon Tyler's head turn, and Tim rolled his eyes at his own exam. "I absolutely failed this thing. Fifteen out of thirty-four." He then added a chuckle after, head shaking back and forth slowly.

Matt continued next, face molding into a grimace. "Well, I thought my sixty-five was awful. That's bad, man."

"Well, what about you, Tyler?" Tim persisted, giving a gentle shove to Tyler's shoulder.

Tyler bit his lip nervously, fidgeting with his fingers slightly before eventually gathering the courage to flip over to the result. He squinted initially, hoping that a blurry vision would somehow lessen the impact of the grade, but the number circled was something that caused Tyler's eyes to gape open in a flash.

Lying there, next to a smiley-face and a small note, were three letters etched in red ink that Tyler never dreamed that he would see on his test.

He had gotten a one-hundred and three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this one. Please still comment if you enjoyed it.


End file.
